


It's Wes

by Blink_Blue



Series: S3 Fics [12]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Ep 3x09, M/M, episode coda, idk man, spoilers?, there's just lots of crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:14:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8627689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: 3x09 Coda.





	

_“It’s Wes.”_

_Someone’s crying in the distance. It sounds like Michaela but he can’t quite tell. It’s an awful, high-pitched, breathless cry. The kind you make when you’re curled up in a hopeless, helpless ball on the ground. The sound of it makes his own chest struggle to draw breath._

_Memories flood him. Wes’s voice. Friendly. Angry. Panicked. Upset. Talking about a quarter deciding the course of the rest of their lives. It drips over him, thick and viscous. He’s drowning in it. But it’s not real--so how can it feel so real?_

_His stomach churns. For a moment he thinks he might be sick. He’ll empty his stomach like he did the night they killed Sam. But a second later, it all goes away. He feels tense and shaky. That might just be the residual adrenaline from rushing over to the hospital from Michaela’s apartment._

_Someone’s dead. Someone is dead. It’s Wes._

_It feels like a dream. Every harsh breath of air he draws into his lungs, makes it that much harder to breathe. He's cold, though there’s sweat dripping down his back from his rush to the hospital. His eyes won’t focus and his feet won’t move. The walls shift, the colors blending into amorphous blobs. The tiles on the ground blur into a dull, gray mosaic, and Bonnie’s face slides out of focus._

_It’s Wes._

_He thinks he must be dreaming. Everything’s hazy like an old memory. Yet somehow at the same time, it’s intense and vivid. Like the colors are too bright, that everything somehow blends into nothing. It doesn’t feel real. And it certainly doesn’t feel right._

_Someone approaches him. A voice drifts in and out of his ear. None of it registers._

_Everything is noise. Everything is screams and pain and it’s too much. Nothing feels real--yet it’s all too real--_

_A hand touches his arm. Fingers press into his flesh, pulling him away._

_His feet are moving, and the intense undertow of vertigo leaves him shaking when he finally falls into a chair. He hears noise all around him, but nothing is clear. He wants it all to stop. Just stop. Stop._

_It’s Wes._

_There’s a voice that he can’t make out. He tries to focus on it but it feels too distant. Like he’s on a different plane. Like time is stopping all around him. And he feels so vacant and hollow, that he just wants to crawl inside his own skin and disappear._

_Vaguely, he feels the hand gripping his arm tighten. He trembles and his stomach lurches again._

_He feels numb._

_It’s Wes._

“Connor?” Oliver’s voice cracks horribly. He sniffs as another heavy tear rolls down his cheek, one of many that night. The other man doesn’t answer him. Oliver draws a shaky breath as he looks across the room. He sees Michaela sobbing into Asher’s arms, her face buried in his chest as her cries reverberate throughout the waiting room. Asher rubs a shaky hand against her back, fresh tears tracking down his face, scrunched in agony and despair.

This is real.

Wes is dead. Their friend is dead, and everything is awful.

Oliver draws another ragged breath as he drops his head. He quickly wipes away his tears with the hand that’s not in a death grip around Connor’s wrist. Just moments ago, he had been terrified that Connor was gone. He still feels residual bits of that soul crushing fear that he would never see Connor’s face again, or speak to him, or fix whatever of _them_ is left to fix. He can’t explain which feels worse. The guilt from the pure relief that Connor was okay… or the fact that their friend isn’t.

“Connor?” He tries again desperately. But the words get choked in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say next. What _can_ he possibly say?

Wes is dead.

And it could be Annalise’s fault. But _how?_ The thought strikes fear in his veins like ice. None of it makes any sense. And it’s not the first revelation that he’d had to face today. Not by far. It feels like his world has been flipped upside down, and he’s so disoriented he can no longer tell left from right.

“Connor, say something,” Oliver begs.

The other man doesn’t answer him. He just keeps staring blankly in front of him, eyes unseeing. The sight of it is another painful stab in Oliver’s chest.

Oliver sniffs loudly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His other hand finds Connor’s and clutches it in a death grip. Michaela’s cries travel to his ears and he draws his own ragged breath. How can anything be okay after this?

Wes is dead.

He was laughing and celebrating a midterm grade earlier that very day. And now he’ll never celebrate anything again.

Oliver trembles and leans forward, closer to the other man. He wants--he needs to be closer. “Connor,” he whispers softly, not sure if the other man is even listening. He shakes terribly as he wraps his arm around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Connor, it’s okay--”

But no, that’s not right. The very words feel wrong slipping past his lips. None of it is okay. Not even close.

Wes is dead.

A sob bursts from Oliver’s throat. “It’s going to be okay,” he croaks, desperately trying to believe it himself. But he shakes in agony as he pulls the other man into his arms. Connor falls against his body, listless and lifeless. “It’s okay,” Oliver whispers again. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers again and again. Maybe if he says it enough, it’ll come true.

He feels the other man tremble against him. It’s gentle at first, barely discernible. And then the trembles grow in magnitude until Connor’s shaking in his arm.

“It’s okay,” Oliver echoes. And he keeps repeating it as he holds Connor tight. “It’s okay to cry,” he whispers. He blinks forcefully, barely able to see past his tears.

Wes is dead.

Oliver forces his eyes shut. It’s easier that way. He focuses on Connor’s trembling. Connor shakes against him, until finally, he breaks into full sobs. His fingers grip the material of Oliver’s jacket, tugging it harshly. And Oliver cries with him. Their sounds mix and muddle as they hold each other tightly.  

“It’s okay,” Oliver whispers, but even he doesn’t believe his own words. “It’s okay.”

Wes is dead.

How can they get past this? This awful, tragic, _terrible_ thing.

Again he hears Michaela’s cries in the background. But Oliver doesn’t look up. He doesn’t wonder where Bonnie is. He doesn’t think about what awful thing might happen next. Instead, his grip tightens on the man in his arms, like it’s the one good thing that he might be able to hold onto.

And he cries.

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://winters-blue-children.tumblr.com)


End file.
